The room was stripped and bare. The only thing inside were two benches, a small hand-mirror hung on the wall, and a tiny table between the benches where an old news pamphlet sat, gathering dust. Moritz clenched his hands together until the knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched as well, so hard his teeth hurt. His head was so blurred with thoughts that his vision was hazy. Pregnant. Ilse was pregnant. He had thought Hanschen was being a jerk when he read that letter, but when he mentioned it to Ilse, she gasped and burst into tears. Now he was sitting with Gustave, waiting for Dr. Freight to finish up.

"Moritz, you're going to tear the skin off your hands." Gustave said, gently pulling Moritz's hands apart. "I don't like this anymore than you do, but we had to find a doctor who wouldn't talk."

"He scares me." Moritz admitted meekly. "I don't think he's a real doctor."

"He may not be, but he knows how to be one." Gustave replied, gritting his teeth. "And right now...Ilse needs a doctor." Moritz shook his head and buried it in his arms.

"She could've been pregnant for months." he moaned into his sleeves. "I thought she was just..." The door creaked open at the far end of the room. Ilse stood there with the creepy, looming Dr. Freight standing over her. Dr. Freight was a very scary man; he made Johan Farandorf look like Santa Claus. He was very tall and skeletal, but he was completely bald so he actually looked like a skeleton. His eyes bugged out of his head and were extremely shiny, like a corpse's eyes. His nose was hooked and crooked and his mouth was a thin line that curled into a very nasty smile, like the one had on right now.

"Our dear Ilse is indeed expecting." he said. Moritz shuddered a little; his voice was like Herr Sonnenstitch's nails on his blackboard. "She has been expecting for awhile; four months to be exact."

"F-f-f-four months?" Moritz squeaked. His mind immediately flew back to the night when he confronted Ilse about her relationship with Melchior, and the sex afterwards...that was four months ago. Ilse's face was deadpan, but he could tell she had been crying. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks wet.

"Ilse has informed me that you plan to go on a little trip across seas in the near future?" Dr. Freight said lightly. "This I certainly condone. She is too far along to get an abortion, and sea travel is not good for her condition; she needs stability and solid ground, or she will certainly miscarry...or die."

Die?

That small word felt like a bullet in Moritz's chest. He sat completely still as the word reverberated in his head like an echo. It grew to multiple words. Die. Dead. Dying. Ilse dying...that can't happen. It won't happen. He won't let it happen. His face hardened like stone and he stood up. Ilse lifted her head up, but his eyes didn't meet hers. He was looking directly at Dr. Freight.

"What do you recommend we should do?" he said, his voice flat and militant, like a soldier.

"Well, I think Ilse's instinct should cover most of that, but I recommend plenty of bed rest, healthy eating...and no long travel." Dr. Freight replied hesitantly, clearly not knowing direct answers.

"Thank you, Dr. Freight." Gustave interjected quickly, scuttling forward and pulling Ilse away from his looming shadow by the arm. "I will pay you on my next payday."

"I appreciate the business." Dr. Freight said, grinning crookedly. Moritz gripped Ilse's hand and she wrapped herself around his arm, looking at Dr. Freight fearfully. "And..." he added, "I am sorry about your dear little friend Wendla. Such a sweet little girl..." his smile increased tenfold in creepiness.

"Go to hell!" Ilse cried, her eyes tearing up. Moritz rushed her to the door, not looking back. Gustave remained inside, hopefully to threaten the scary doctor impersonator. Once outside Ilse clung to Moritz like a child, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her until she calmed down and looked up at him.

"Oh Moritz, I'm so sorry!" she wept. "I've ruined everything...everything we had planned..." Gustave strode out of the rickety, hidden office with a grin on his face and a little blood on his fist.

"Good thing we got that out of the way." Gustave said smugly, "I thought you were getting fat."

A/N: Gustave is a jerk, too :P Did Santa Claus exist in 1890's Germany? Was he called Father Christmas? I don't know, I probably should've done some research. And I'm pretty sure that sea travel wouldn't kill Ilse if she's just 4 months along, and I'm only assuming that 4 months is too late for an abortion at that time; feel free to correct me on any of these things, but don't expect me to alter anything in my story... I'm too lazy :P